


A Fine Spread

by Temve



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Fingering, M/M, Mission Fic, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29446650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temve/pseuds/Temve
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi is entirely too good at posing as a pleasure boy. As Qui-Gon Jinn is only too happy to attest.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 81
Collections: QuiObi Writing Discord Prompt Fills





	A Fine Spread

**Author's Note:**

> From the QuiObi Writing Discord's smut prompt, "Spread your legs for me. I want to see you."
> 
> Costume choices wholly influenced by the fact that we watched _The Three Musketeers_ this morning, starring Christopher Lee as Sir Not Appearing In This Fic (Almost).

Of course he should be used to the sight of Obi-Wan without his beard; he had spent over ten years of his life with a clean-shaven Padawan Kenobi, and several of those pining after that unbearably delicious cleft chin. Having it disappear behind a neat ginger beard had been the least of his regrets upon Obi-Wan’s Knighting. Especially once Obi-Wan had made it quite clear that that was not going to be the end of their time together; merely the beginning of a new, and in many ways more exciting, era.

Still, seeing Obi-Wan in nothing but a towel, chin and cheeks freshly bare in service to their latest mission, stirred memories in Qui-Gon. 

“It makes you look younger,” he remarked. “Indecently so.”

“Thank you, Master.” Obi-Wan seemed amused at Qui-Gon’s turn of phrase.

“You know you haven’t had to call me that in years, Obi-Wan.”

That wicked smile again. “I thought it couldn't hurt to start getting into character. _Master._ ”

Obi-Wan was the natural choice of course, and neither of them had any doubt that even without the Order quietly pulling strings with the escort agency under cover of secrecy, Obi-Wan would have been able to secure this particular undercover position completely on his own merit.

“You make a stunning pleasure boy,” Qui-Gon remarked reverently, if only to keep his jaw from falling slack as Obi-Wan fastened the collar around his own neck. They both knew it was a necessary tool of their mission; the small framed jewel in the front concealed a camera lens and audio inlet, and the sleek jointed metal held enough storage and battery power to record the entire sordid affair if necessary, though Obi-Wan had assured him he would get the Viceroy to confess to his involvement in the illegal human trafficking ring well before the night was out, the plan being that he would pass the collar with its incriminating recording to Qui-Gon who would pose as wait staff since, as Obi-Wan had so diplomatically put it, a pleasure boy of Qui-Gon’s proportions was rather an acquired taste.

“Will you be all right,Obi-Wan?”

“With you watching me all night? I might be tempted to be slightly louder than normal just for you.”

“Imp.”

“You love it.”

“...yes.”

* * *

As expected, Obi-Wan had disappeared into the skimpy folds of his new ‘employment’ with barely a ripple.

What they had not expected was the incredulous reaction on the Viscount of Bralonn’s quartermaster’s face when faced with a giant in a poncho asking for work as a server at the evening’s banquet in honor of the Viceroy.

She had taken one look at Qui-Gon’s hands and declared that unless he sought work as a lumberjack, he was unqualified to serve on her staff. She had taken one more look at Qui-Gon’s hands making a surreptitious gesture of convincing strength, and her laughter had been so loud it had roused the Viscount himself from his study, peeking a frowning head through the door at just the right height for Qui-Gon to formulate a new plan on the fly.

“Must you be so insolently noisy, Mistress Jellah?”

The quartermaster snorted. “This oaf here thinks he’s some kind of Jedi, trying to convince me to hire him as wait staff. I mean, look at those paws, will you, sire?”

A small gesture, at just the right moment. “A word, if you please, Viscount.”

A head inclined, gently. “Certainly.” The door to the Viscount’s study opened gallantly.

It was almost half an hour later when it opened again, on account of the time it had taken Qui-Gon to assume the Viscount’s rather ornate identity. Sending the man into a pleasant dreamland had been a quick mind trick, the bonds and gag almost an afterthought; most of the half hour had been spent in front of the full-length mirror, lacing himself into the intricate layers of the Viscount’s attire. And then trying valiantly not to spatter shaving cream over the whole mess as he slashed his beard down to the smaller, sharper model currently residing on a blissfully slack face in the Viscount’s map cabinet. 

The large feathered hat, tilted just so, took care of the fact that Qui-Gon’s eyes were the wrong color to be the Viscount’s; the gloves were uncomfortably tight, but given the fact that his hands had already attracted attention once, Qui-Gon thought it wise to conceal them in the same veneer of ostentatious richness and blood-dark red that the Viscount appeared to favor. _At least he doesn’t seem to be vain about the gray in his hair._

Thanking the Force for small favors, Qui-Gon drew himself up to the Viscount’s full height and headed for the banquet hall. As it was, he was fashionably late to his own party.

* * *

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened when he caught sight of Qui-Gon, sprawled decadently on one of the guest couches, decked out in almost-too-tight red velvet, lace and bows and leather belts, a feast of antiquated military fashion gone overboard.

Of course the fact that Qui-Gon had insisted on keeping the wide-brimmed hat on was saving him in that moment, because the sight of Obi-Wan in nothing more than that collar and an indecently short loincloth would have been enough to send lesser men into convulsions of desire.

Grinning widely, Obi-Wan sauntered over. “You appear woefully underserved, Sire. Allow me?”

//There’s a surprise, Master. Risen through the ranks, have you?//

//Took me long enough to get all this frippery put on my body. You’ve had an easier time of that, it seems.// The amusement in Qui-Gon’s inner voice barely concealed the edge of lust.

//You could say that.// Obi-Wan turned away from where Qui-Gon was sitting and bent forward, ostensibly to pick up a wine pitcher and goblet from the low table beside the guest couch. The view of his bottom as he bent over was enough to snap a Jedi Master’s resolve. 

Predictably, it did.

“Stay.“ Obi-Wan stilled at the sound of Qui-Gon’s voice, bent forward, the creamy curve of his ass where it met the tops of his thighs tantalizingly exposed. “Good boy,” Qui-Gon growled softly. “Now, spread your legs for me. I want to see you.”

With barely a hitch of hesitation, Obi-Wan walked his feet apart until he stood bent over, fully exposed, the curves of his balls peeking between his legs, his cock already well past the stage where it would be visible hanging between his legs.

//Hard for me already? Eager.// Qui-Gon reached a hand between Obi-Wan’s legs, and even though nobody in the room could see the minute widening of his eyes, Obi-Wan more than felt it in the Force. 

//You shaved _there_ too?//

//Anything to stay in character, _Master._ //

The response from Qui-Gon was a soft exhale as he reverently ran his hand along the smooth, silk-over-steel length of Obi-Wan’s cock, down to its strangely bare root and over the tender balls that reacted most satisfyingly to the slight squeeze he gave them. 

He squeezed harder, and this time Obi-Wan gave an audible gasp that went straight to Qui-Gon’s groin.

“Lovely noises you make, boy,” Qui-Gon purred. “I wonder if I could get more of those out of you.”

He lazily trailed his hand down Obi-Wan’s thigh, then reached forward and dipped it into the wine goblet Obi-Wan had ostensibly been busy with. Not without planting a surreptitious kiss on the exposed curve of Obi-Wan’s ass.

//Two can play at that game, Obi-Wan.//

Fingers dripping with sweet wine, Qui-Gon trailed them up between Obi-Wan’s legs until he reached the puckered opening, already twitching with anticipation.

“Feel free to be as loud as you like, boy,” Qui-Gon murmured. “You have my permission to impress the guests.”

With that, he plunged one finger deep into Obi-Wan, drawing a nice juicy moan out of him. Circling the pad of his thumb around the ring of muscle, Qui-Gon waited for Obi-Wan to adjust before pulling out and thrusting back in, taking care to rake across the man’s prostate. Obi-Wan gasped and held on to the table for support as he thrust his ass shamelessly back on to Qui-Gon’s finger.

“Fuck,” he breathed softly. “Yes. I’m in your hands, sire. And… what hands.”

A sharp smile quirked the lips framed by the unaccustomed small beard. “I am glad you approve,” Qui-Gon rumbled. “Let us see how quickly we can get you to incoherence, shall we?”

Of course Qui-Gon Jinn didn’t play fair; there was almost certainly a touch of the Force in those thrusts, because damn it, even Qui-Gon’s fingers weren’t _that_ big. Or… ribbed. Obi-Wan loved every minute of it, and he made sure that anyone within earshot knew what a fine pleasure boy he was, riding the hand of the Viscount, bent over and moaning with each shallow urgent thrust until he was so worked up he was sure he would spatter his own face with his seed.

//Master… close...//

The hand stilled abruptly, then pulled out, leaving behind a sense of emptiness and a whimper that Obi-Wan wasn't sure had come from him.

“Certainly a nice demonstration,” Qui-Gon purred, his own voice ragged with need. “I find those velvet breeches have become rather tighter in the course of it.” A deep luxuriant sigh. “But before I let you take care of the… matter, boy, go get me something to wash my hands with. I wish to eat.”

//I have a better idea, _Master._ //

Qui-Gon’s response was an undignified grunt as Obi-Wan straddled him, rubbing his pert arse into where Qui-Gon’s cock was trapped in layers of fine fabrics.

“Why don’t you let me take care of that too?” With that, Obi-Wan bent over sideways, exposing a dazzling ripple of abdominal muscles (and quite a few scars that had apparently not raised any eyebrows at the agency) as he reached for a morsel of food from the thoughtfully prepared finger food tray on the small side table. 

And that was where things started really going downhill. It was one thing to be fed small bites of delicious food by your former apprentice, occasional mission partner, and life mate posing as your slave for the night. It was quite another to be fed morsels of food _dripping_ not only with sweet and savory sauces but also with indecently perfect imagery trickling over their bond. Obi-Wan was having fun with this, and Qui-Gon could do little more than lie there and take it, grinding his hard cock into Obi-Wan’s perfect bottom as Obi-Wan’s fingertips picked up a stray drop of syrup off his lips and smeared it on to his own before licking it off (and sending images of that tongue in… _other_ places).

//What was that about two playing at that game, _Master?_ //

//Imp.//

“At your service.” Yes, that last bit had been spoken out loud, barely audible above the pounding of blood in Qui-Gon’s ears. Spreading his legs impossibly wider and sinking his entire weight down on the ridge of Qui-Gon’s cock, Obi-Wan smiled as he grasped one of Qui-Gon’s hands in his own and pulled it up to where the collar encircled the base of his throat. “All yours, sire.”

Qui-Gon held on for dear life, hooking his fingers into the collar and thrusting, grinding into Obi-Wan, desperate for more friction. Obi-Wan’s smile opened into a wide grin, jostled by Qui-Gon’s hard thrusts. Slowly, as if to make sure Qui-Gon was watching, he dropped one hand to his own cock, running a finger up its engorged length before wrapping a thick Force push around both of them that sent them over the edge into a sticky, gasping mess of pleasure.

When Qui-Gon could see straight again, Obi-Wan’s smirk had come much, much closer. He felt a wet tongue on his face, licking the evidence of Obi-Wan’s orgasm off his chin.

“One could be forgiven for thinking,” Obi-Wan murmured in that soft, cultivated voice of his, “that you were intending to purchase me.” He gently tapped the broken collar where it was still clenched in Qui-Gon’s fist. With a groan, Qui-Gon released it, his hand unresisting as Obi-Wan pulled the polished metal links free and looped the collar around Qui-Gon’s wrist, tying a loose knot in place of the twisted clasp.

//But we all know who you really belong to, don’t we?//

//I feel like there is some sort of rule against calling you ‘imp’ three times in one night, Obi-Wan. But that was… spectacular.//

//You weren’t so bad yourself. Definitely keep that outfit. Oh, and hang on to the collar? Recording’s on there. Took me all of ten minutes to get him on the subject.//

//You truly are an asset to the Jedi order, Padawan.//

//And you are a sticky mess, _Master._ // A wicked grin spread across Obi-Wan’s flushed features once more, possessive and delicious.

“Spread your legs for me, Master. I want to see you.”


End file.
